Affection Deception
by The Coy Koi
Summary: The plan was for Voldemort to fall in love with Snape via love potion. The plan was NOT for Voldemort to fall in love with Harry via love potion. LVxHPxSS
1. Bittersweet

**Disclaimer: If Harry Potter belonged to me, Harry would have been a Slytherin from the start.**

**AN: Hello, lovely readers! Welcome to the first chapter of my brand-new fanfic, Affection Deception. **

**On the off-chance you have read either of my other fanfics before, you may be feeling a bit wary. After all, I'm not known for my... consistency when it comes to such things. I'll share the reason with you here and now: It's because I didn't really have anything planned out.**

**As it so happens, that is where this fanfiction differs from my others. For this fanfiction, I have planned out significant plot points and where I want it to go. I will write this. I will not give up.**

**By the way, this ignores HBP and DH. Harry is in seventh year in this fanfic, and Snape and Dumbledore are alive and well. Snape is also still teaching Potions, though and you'll find out who's teaching DADA later. **

**Well, without further ado, here is chapter one! Enjoy.**

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_Everything I do is bittersweet_

_You can tell me secrets that I'll probably repeat - _**Bittersweet, Panic! At the Disco**

X~X~X~X~X~X

It was only after he felt the yank of apparition that Harry realized it was one of the worst ideas he had ever had.

Thankfully, this realization did not prevent him from releasing the edge of Snape's ebony death eater robes before the man realized he had inadvertently apparated Harry as well as himself. It did not stop him from skulking behind Snape under the cover of his invisibility cloak as the sullen man strode briskly through the shadowy manor. It did not even keep him from slipping silently after his professor as he opened the door to a deceptively cozy sitting room.

It did, however, make breathing impossible for Harry the instant the boy saw the blood-chilling reptilian features of the man already occupying said room.

"Ah, Severus," the man hissed breathily. Harry absently noted that if it weren't for the subtle smile on his face, the man's tone of voice would make it difficult to tell whether he were pleased to see Snape or decidedly not.

"How good of you to be so prompt," Voldemort finished. As Snape approached the worst dark lord in centuries, he dropped to his knees and kissed the hem of the man's robes. Harry was certain he would have been disgusted by the display if he were not in complete shock from seeing the normally-proud man kneel in subservience so easily before Voldemort. It took Harry a moment to remember that it was an act. Snape would not do any such thing if he had a choice, Harry was sure.

"My lord, I live only to serve you. I would never dream of arriving a moment later than possible if you had summoned me." Snape kept his head bowed before Voldemort as the later carded through Snape's long black hair as though stroking a favored pet.

"But of course Severus." His mouth now formed an easily discernible lipless smirk, "I would expect nothing less from you. Come, sit." With a hand like a talon, he gestured toward a velvet armchair. Snape immediately rose to his feet and sat in the plush chair opposite Voldemort, though his posture was so straight that his shoulders did not touch the back of the chair. Voldemort, on the other hand, seemed much more at ease and leaned on one elbow as he lazily raked his eerie gaze up the potions master's thin body. After a moment of silence in which Harry was extremely careful not to breathe too loudly, the man started to speak again.

"I trust you have brought the potion I asked for, Severus?" Though phrased like a statement, it was meant as a question.

Snape's slender hand dove beneath his dark robes in a flash.

"Yes, my lord. I have it here."

Voldemort smiled again. Harry found it disconcerting.

"Excellent."

When Snape's hand emerged, it held a small flask filled with a deep purplish liquid. Harry briefly entertained a rather silly hope that it was a poison of some kind.

"It will strengthen your immune system, my lord. The effects may not be noticeable to you," Snape explained, his voice holding a slight tone of reverence. He stretched the arm holding the vial toward his supposed master, and Voldemort took it gingerly. He examined it as if looking at an interesting species of bird.

"Do you mean for me to drink it immediately, Severus?" The orange light from the fireplace beside him made his paper-white skin appear as though it were a healthier shade of peach.

"It would be most potent if consumed now, my lord." Snape seemed to carefully choose his words so it didn't sound as though he were giving an order.

"But of course, Severus. I would not want to take any chances with its potency," the dark lord whispered, and Harry got the impression that he was slightly amused. In an elegant motion, Voldemort pulled the stopper from the translucent jar, brought it to his mouth, and tilted it back. His delicate eyelids closed leisurely as his thin throat visibly contracted to swallow the potion. The moment he did so, Snape tensed ever so slightly. Harry stiffened too. This potion was important somehow. He was certain it wasn't anything as inconsequential as an immune system-strengthening elixir.

When Voldemort's crimson eyes reopened, they were looking directly at Harry.

The boy had to hold back a shriek. Then, as Voldemort's eyes continued to sweep the rest of the room, he felt rather embarrassed for the almost-reaction. It would have been fatal, surely.

When Voldemort's gaze finally returned to Snape, Harry let out an undetectable, though shaky, sigh of relief. He had been sure he had given himself away somehow.

"I seldom enjoy the taste of potions. This was no exception," Voldemort finally spoke, "though I have little doubt of its quality." Harry, though still recovering from the scare, couldn't help but think that that just might have been the worst compliment ever given.

Snape, apparently, was not of the same opinion.

"Thank you, my lord." He bowed his head as he spoke, hair falling in front of his face in a stringy curtain. He lifted his head to meet the eyes of the dark lord once again, looking as though he were expecting something more.

Voldemort seemed to be aware of the request in the eyes fixed upon him, for he elaborated, folding his skeletal hands in his lap.

"That will be all, Severus."

It was the first time that Harry had ever seen unmistakable confusion on Snape's face, and he had no idea what had caused it.

"My lord?" his professor tentatively asked.

"_That will be all,_ Severus. You may leave now." The chill that entered Voldemort's voice made it very apparent that leaving was expected, not merely an option. Snape's features assumed a neutral position once again.

"Yes, my lord." With that, the man stood, bowed once more before Voldemort, and then abruptly turned on his heel toward the door, robes billowing behind him imposingly. Harry shuffled under his cloak as quietly as possible as he struggled to catch up to the potions master. He barely managed to slip under Snape's arm before the man closed the door quickly and silently behind him. He tailed Snape while making as little sound as he could through the hallways they had traversed not half an hour before, until eventually they came to what Harry could only assume was the designated apparition point. Snape reached into his robes for his wand, and Harry grabbed hold of the edge of Snape's cloak just as the man apparated.

With a rather loud crack, Harry found himself and his professor back in Hogsmeade, and he was rather disconcerted for a moment. The night was tinted with the slight chill of the encroaching autumn, and the boy could hear cheerful voices and laughter emanating from various establishments in the town.

Snape, however, was not in quite such high spirits as the people Harry could hear. The man began to stride off, his steps made more quick and decisive through what appeared to be anger, though what he was angry about, Harry had not a clue.

Harry shrugged. After waiting a few minutes to let the professor get a head start, the boy began the walk back to Hogwarts, mulling over what he had seen.

The reason for the incognito trip could be summed up as pure frustration. Harry could not deny it at this point. He was frustrated with the war, he was frustrated with Dumbledore, but most of all he was frustrated with the fact that Dumbledore and all other members of the Order were still withholding any and all information about the war from him. Harry was seventeen now, and he believed that he had the right to know. Still, though he had spoken with Dumbledore and other prominent Order members several times on the subject, he was told absolutely nothing.

Harry's mounting annoyance at this had grown to the point of desperation. In fact, he had been so desperate for any tidbit of information on the war, that when the chance had presented itself that summer at Grimmauld place, Harry had eavesdropped upon the tail-end of what he could only assume was an important conversation between Dumbledore and Snape.

_"Severus, you know that it is imperative that Voldemort believes it to be nothing more than an immune system-strengthening elixir," Dumbledore's old, yet somehow whimsical voice stated._

_"Of course, Albus. I have brewed the potion to look exactly like that. I will deliver it the sixteenth of September, and he shall suspect nothing. We've been over this several times now, Albus," Snape's deep, exasperated tones replied._

_"Of course, Severus. I trust you with the task. There exists nobody better suited for it." _

_There was a very pregnant silence. After a few moments, Dumbledore spoke again._

_"Severus, this requires more sacrifice on your part than I am comfortable asking you for," the old man's voice sounded unusually melancholy now._

_"Albus, it is hardly different from what I do already. I am prepared for everything and anything that this might entail," Snape replied. He sounded determined, though Harry could not fathom what he was determined to do._

It was at that point that Harry had been forced to leave, as he'd heard footsteps in the hall, and he absolutely had not wanted to be caught eavesdropping on what was undoubtedly a sensitive matter. However, he had thought about the conversation for weeks afterward, trying to analyze every detail he could. He didn't come up with much, so he had hatched the idiotic plan of secretly accompanying Snape to the meeting with Voldemort to try and see if he could find out anything more about the war, or perhaps better yet, this mysterious potion.

Harry's trip had not paid off. All he had learned, he reflected bitterly as he entered Hogwarts, was that Snape was very good at acting.

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Severus whisked through the hallways, fury evident in every step he took. Students scampered out of his path the moment they saw him, and as he passed, he left a wake of frightened silence. Nobody wanted to do anything that might even possibly annoy him when he was already in a mood like that.

As he turned the corner of yet another monotonous stone hallway, Severus finally reached the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office.

"Fizzing Whizzbees," he spat out, each word sounding like a curse. The gargoyle seemed all-too-happy to jump out of his way immediately, and the potions master brushed through, his shoes making a loud clapping noise every time they collided with the steps of the spiralling staircase beneath him. When he reached the top, Severus flung open the door without ceremony.

"Albus," he gritted out.

The ancient wizard at the desk looked surprised to see him.

"Severus," he greeted politely, "I did not expect you to be back so soon." His periwinkle eyes held the question his words lacked.

"Neither did I," the man responded dourly.

Dumbledore stroked his coarse, silver beard in contemplation and, perhaps, concern.

"He did take the potion, didn't he? He didn't seem concerned about it?"

"Of course he took the damn potion, Albus," Severus snarled, pushing his stringy black hair behind his ears, "But he made it very clear that I should leave afterwards."

Dumbledore seemed perfectly relaxed once more.

"You were the first person he saw after taking it, yes? You know the potion will not work properly otherwise."

"Of course I know, Albus! I invented that particular bloody love potion myself! Yes, I am absolutely certain that I was the first person he saw." Snape paced about the eccentrically-decorated office, crossing and un-crossing his arms in a movement that spoke of restlessness and frustration.

"In that case, we have nothing to worry about, do we? You know better than anyone that the potion works gradually. You said yourself that it's meant to imitate actual love, Severus. Real love takes time." Dumbledore's voice was kind, but firm. He interlocked his spindly fingers in front of himself.

Severus paused a moment in his pacing, then deflated and plopped into a rather cushy armchair.

"Yes, Albus, I know. I just thought-"

"I know what you thought, Severus. However, I hardly think that Voldemort's decision regarding your...company tonight can be connected to the potion in any way. We must wait at the very least several weeks for the potion's onset before we can expect anything of the sort."

Severus sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Of course, Albus. I know. I'll wait."

Dumbledore smiled warmly, and Severus thought it suddenly made him look ten years younger at the very least.

"Yes, Severus. In this case, patience is key. Now, would you like some tea? I have lemon drops too, if you'd like a few." Dumbledore reached into his robes, presumably intending to retrieve a bag of the sweets.

Severus stood abruptly.

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline, Headmaster."

Dumbledore chuckled as though he was expecting those exact words. He probably had been, Severus mused.

"One day, you'll have to finally accept my invitation for tea, Severus."

Severus' thin mouth tilted upward at the corners slightly.

"Perhaps, Albus. But for now, I'll merely bid you a good night."

"Good night to you too, Severus," Dumbledore responded, eyes twinkling.

Severus nodded and left the office.

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**AN: Hi again! I'd like to thank you for reading the first chapter. Here are a few things I'd like to tell you here and now.**

**THIS IS A HARRYxVOLDEMORTxSNAPE FANFIC. It's an odd pairing, I know. Hell, I don't know if it can be called a pairing when there are three people. **

**Please, please, please give this fanfic a chance. I know this seems an impossible pairing to make work, but I know what I'm doing. **

**On another note, I'm not sure if it's clear what happened in this chapter, though I did do my best to make it so. Basically, Snape and Dumbledore hatched a plan to give Voldy a love potion for reasons I will reveal later. Harry overheard that they were gonna give him a potion of some kind or another that was important and decided to tag along. The potion is one Snape invented himself, and it mirrors actual love. It make its drinker fall in love with the first person he/she sees. When Harry tagged along with Snape to give Voldy the potion, he was under the invisibility cloak, and after Voldy took the potion, HE LOOKED AROUND THE ROOM AND SAW HARRY (thought he didn't realize it) AND THEN HE LOOKED BACK AT SNAPE. Basically, Harry was the first person Voldy saw after taking the potion, though neither Voldemort nor Snape know that.**

**Anyways, please review! They really motivate me to write, and it makes me very happy everytime I get one. Also, feel free to ask any questions about the fanfic if you're a bit confused. :D **


	2. Stuck to You

**AN: Hello again my beloved readers! Welcome to chapter two. I'd like to say a few things before and after we get started.**

**Firstly, you may have noticed that this fanfic is now classified as a Voldemort/Harry, as opposed to the Snape/Harry it was in the first chapter. This is because I will be changing the classification between the two with every chapter I post so it's equally likely that those searching for a Snarry and those searching for a... Varry will find it. The pairing is still SSxHPxLV, so no need to worry. If you put this on story alerts, you should find little issue.**

**Secondly, the fanfic will take something of a humorous turn for a while. This will not last forever, nor is the humor it the focus of the fanfic, but it will be prominent for a while.**

**Thirdly, I am back to highschool now, and I have a job. This is unfortunate for both you and me, because it means that I will have a lot less time to write. I plan on updating every two weeks, but I decided to do this one just a week after because I can. By the way, if I don't update after two weeks, FEEL FREE TO HARASS ME ABOUT IT (in a friendly way :P). Trust me, IT MAY JUST WORK. **

**That's about it, for now. I'll have a few more things to say at the end of the chapter... I'm a fan of ANs. :D**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, the following would occur in the canon. I assure, however, it doesn't.**

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_My heart's on the floor_

_My feet feel like lead_

_I'd quit the tour_

_But I'm already dead - Hellogoodbye, "Stuck to You"_

**X~X~X~X~X~X**

When Harry awoke the next morning, something completely irrational in him half-expected his visit the previous night to have changed something. Perhaps the food would be tasteless, or Dumbledore would look at him with no cheer in his eyes, or the Great Hall's ceiling would show a starless night regardless of the outside weather. Harry expected to have been found out somehow, and to be punished accordingly.

However, when Harry reached the Great Hall, this was not the case. The ceiling was a pale blue to mirror the morning sky, Dumbledore looked to be happily chatting away with McGonnagal, and the food, he decided as he took his first bite of eggs, was certainly not tasteless.

A shaggy head of fiery red turned to look at Harry as he sat down.

"'oo 'orning, 'arry!" Ron greeted cheerily through a mouthful of his breakfast.

Hermione sighed exasperatedly from across the table.

"I think he means, 'Good morning, Harry,'" she explained, shaking her head in blatant disapproval.

Ron swallowed his chewed-up food with some difficulty, then grinned widely, a bit of something-or-other still caught in his teeth.

"Yeah, that's what I meant."

Harry smiled back at the both of them.

"Morning, Ron. Morning Hermione."

The rest of breakfast was rather uneventful. Ron talked about which classes he hated (few were exempt), Hermione nagged at him for it and provided counterpoints for why each class was in fact wonderful, and Harry tried to stay out of it and see if he could catch the occasional glance of Ginny, who was sitting down the table with some other Gryffindor girls from her year. At one point, she caught him looking and waved her porcelain hand at him with a gentle smile, which caused his face to heat rather violently, and he turned away quickly with a short wave back.

Once the trio had finished breakfast, they began to head for Transfiguration, their first class of the day. By the time they had climbed two aged staircases, Hermione stopped them, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Er, Ron, Harry? Would you mind if before class I just took a quick stop by the, er, restroom? I'm sorry, but..." She trailed off and her chestnut eyes drifted to the cool stone beneath her feet.

Harry quickly glanced at Ron, and his best friend wore an expression that suggested that this was the first time he had ever known that girls even used the loo. Harry decided to step in before poor Hermione felt even more awkward.

"Sure, 'Mione, that's fine."

The bushy-haired girl nodded jerkily, looking relieved, and then briskly walked in the direction of the nearest witches' room. Harry gave Ron a sharp kick to the shin the moment she was presumably out of earshot.

"Ouch! What was that for?" Ron yelped indignantly, jumping away from Harry.

"You were kind of being a prat, mate," Harry explained plainly.

"What do you bloody mean? I didn't say anything for Merlin's sake!" The second-youngest Weasley's ears were turning red with annoyance.

"Yeah, but you were kinda giving her a rude look. She obviously was embarrassed enough already," Harry continued, starting to get rather irritated himself. Ron might be his best friend, but he could really be oblivious sometimes.

"I wasn't giving her a rude look! I don't know what you're-what's that owl doing there?"

Harry followed Ron's line of sight to the window the other boy was staring at in a perplexed manner. Sure enough, a rather plain brown owl sat on the windowsill, a letter tied to its scaly leg. It was rapidly tapping against the glass with its yellow curved beak, and was obviously determined to be let inside.

"Wonder why he didn't just deliver his letter at breakfast with the rest?" Ron muttered in a confused tone of voice. Harry just shrugged in response, and then realized that Ron wasn't looking at him.

"Dunno. Might as well let him in then, I s'pose." With that, Harry stepped over to the window and slid it open to allow the determined avian visitor to enter.

The instant he did, the quaffle-sized bird flew straight at Harry's stomach, knocking the wind out of him and landing him flat on his arse. Before Harry could even get an arm up to defend himself, the owl dove at him again with what could only be described as purpose in his tiny pitch-black eyes, this time knocking him onto his back.

"What the bloody hell?" Ron shouted in alarm, face stretched with shock. Harry probably would have said the same thing, were there any air occupying his abused lungs.

The third time the feathery fiend began to swoop at Harry again, he managed to raise an arm in an attempt to shield himself. The owl, to Harry's relieved surprise, simply landed on the proffered limb in a shockingly docile manner, then stuck out his leg, letter dangling harmlessly.

Harry paused for a moment to recover his breath, simply staring at the bird. Ron's eyes were wide, and he too apparently could not bring himself to do anything but look at the owl. After a second or two, he seemed to regain his bearings at least partially.

"I think he's trying to give his letter to you, Harry," he said in a soft incredulous tone.

Harry considered the fluffed-up owl before him. It was indeed sticking out the unmarked eggshell-white envelope it carried. It even seemed to be looking at him rather expectantly. Harry reached a tentative hand toward the envelope. Once he gently took hold of it, the owl sprang into the air, flapping its wings to rise, and soared out the window it had entered through not five minutes before. Harry looked down at the suspiciously inconspicuous letter in his hand, still trying to figure out what had just happened.

"Who the bloody hell trains their bloody owl to attack the person it's bloody delivering a bloody letter to?" Ron asked, shaking his freckled head in amazement.

"I don't know," Harry responded, "but I s'pose we'll just have to read the letter and find out." He began to tear open the corner of the envelope, but it was at that precise moment that Hermione came hurtling around the corner of the corridor, frizzy mane flying behind her, looking as though Voldemort himself were after her.

"I'm so sorry!" she shrieked as she yanked both of them by their sleeves in the direction she was going, "I didn't mean to take that long! Hurry, we'll be late for Transfiguration!"

Harry shoved the letter in his pocket and resolved to have a good look at it later, then joined his friends in the sprint to McGonnagal's classroom.

**X~X~X~X~X~X**

The trio did manage to make it on time, if just barely. McGonnagal had just shaken her head at them disapprovingly, which, all things considered, wasn't that bad. The rest of Harry's classes were equally normal, though Harry had half-expected Snape to accuse Harry of what he had done the night before. Instead, the potions master had acted no differently than usual, which was to say that he nitpicked at every possible thing wrong with Harry's potion and in general was horribly unfair to him. It was to be expected.

Dinner, however, became a good deal more interesting when it was disturbed by the lovely screeching of one furious Parvati Patil. She stormed through the entrance, the Hall, and right up to a very flustered Ravenclaw boy, then drew back her arm, and slapped him hard across the face with a great cracking noise that emanated throughout the room. The Great Hall ceased its activities and existed only in shocked silence before crystaline droplets began to flow down Parvati's face in large number, and she ran out of the room. McGonnagal quickly stood up and followed her, steps brisk, but never crossing the brink of a run. The instant she left, the Hall was full of deafening chatter, each student offering his or her own take on what had just happened. Harry, for his part, would be the first to admit had no idea.

"Poor Parvati," Hermione murmured, pity permeating through each word.

"Poor Parvati?" asked Ron incredulously, giving Hermione an astounded look, "What about that bloke? Didn't you see? She just walked up and smacked him for no reason!"

"It was not for no reason, Ronald," Hermione snapped back, a sudden righteous fury in her glare. "He most definitely deserved it. After all, he-" she broke off, chocolate eyes widening, and took a sudden interest in her potatoes.

Harry and Ron shared a confused glance. After a moment in which Hermione only awkwardly twirled her fork, Harry decided to speak up.

"He did what, Hermione?"

Hermione looked back at them nervously, her brow crinkled in anxiety, then edgily began to speak.

"Look, I accidentally overheard Lavender and Parvati talking about it in the bathroom this morning. They didn't know I was in there, and once they realized, they made me promise not to tell."

"Come on, 'Mione," Ron prodded, "It's just us."

Hermione seemed to consider this for a moment, and then released a guilt-laden sigh.

"Oh, alright. But don't you dare tell anybody else." She waved them closer and they leaned across the long wooden table toward her. After taking a deep breath, she began again in a whisper.

"Parvati and that boy had been dating since before summer started. They kept in touch with letters and so on through the break," here she nodded once for emphasis.

"Ever since school started back up, they got really serious. Last night, he asked her to," she averted her eyes from the boys and flushed with a light rose color, "sleep with him. She, er, wasn't so keen on the idea, but then he said that he loved her and, well..." She trailed off and flushed a deeper shade, biting her lip.

"Anyways, after they were done, he just stood up, got dressed, and told her that he didn't have any feelings for her. He had just said he loved her to trick her into it," she finished with melancholy, leaning back into a normal sitting position.

Ron looked appalled. Harry would put down a significant amount of galleons on a bet that he looked the same way.

"What a right prick," Harry bluntly stated after a minute. He could think of nothing more appropriate to say.

"Harry! Language!" Hermione admonished, glancing as Ron as if to say that the ginger-haired boy had better not imitate the black-haired one, "Though I suppose if anyone deserves to be called that, it's him. Poor Parvati..."

They finished dinner with little further incident. Planning to head back to Gryffindor tower, the three friends had stood and meandered toward the entryway of the Hall when Harry felt a bony hand on his shoulder. He swiveled his head to see its owner, and was met by the serene crooked visage of none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Hello, Harry," he greeted joyfully, then turned to Ron and Hermione, "and hello to you too, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger. I trust your day was pleasant?" His raspy voice had a musical quality to it, Harry mused.

They each nodded, and Dumbledore smiled brightly in response.

"Lovely. Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, do either of you mind if I borrow Harry here for a little while? Assuming, of course, that he himself has no objection." He turned his mischievous eyes, surrounded by wrinkles ranging from great ravines to minuscule markings, back to Harry. Harry shook his head in response.

"Er, no professor." Ron and Hermione responded in a similar manner, and Dumbledore's benevolent smile became even more pronounced.

"Wonderful. Now then, Harry, if you would just accompany me back to my office..."

With that, Dumbledore whisked Harry through the corridors and up several ever-shifting staircases, chatting all the while about some delightful new muggle candy he had recently discovered. Harry didn't quite have the heart to tell the elderly wizard that he had never particularly liked chocolate and mint when they were put together.

By the time Hogwarts's Headmaster had begun to detail what his favorite type of candy wrappers were like (metallic gold, and they didn't crackle when opened), they had reached the stone gargoyle at the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Fizzing Whizzbees," Dumbledore piped up cheerfully, and the gargoyle moved to allow them entry. He trotted up the twisting staircase lightheartedly, Harry following dutifully behind him, wondering what the whole thing was even about.

When at last they entered Dumbledore's office, Harry felt as if his heart had suddenly died, grown cold, and plopped into his stomach.

Snape was already in the office.

They knew.

Oh, Merlin.

They knew.

There was no other explanation, really. Why else would Dumbledore have called both him and Snape into his office at the same time, merely a day after the incident? There was no other plausible reason. Harry parted his suddenly-chapped lips, intending to confess everything before they had a chance accuse him, but Snape spoke first.

"Headmaster, what is the meaning of this? Why have you brought Potter here?" He growled, looking mildly irritated. Harry was confused. Didn't Snape already know what Harry had done? Why was he acting as though his presence were merely a rather unpleasant surprise?

"Why, Severus, I simply wish to speak with you both, of course. Tea? Lemon drop?"

"No thank you, Headmaster," the potions master replied, sounding no less vexed than before, "but could we quickly address the reason for this unfortunate combination of visitors? I've essays yet to mark."

"I'm sure they can wait just a bit, Severus. What about you, Harry? Tea? Lemon drop?"

"Er, sure, professor. Er, tea, that is." Dumbledore beamed at him, and with a flick of his wand, conjured two cups of what appeared to be heavily pre-sweetened black tea. He handed one to Harry and took a light sip of one himself. Snape glowered at Harry the moment Dumbledore wasn't looking, accusing him with his piercing obsidian orbs of making the inane visit even longer. Harry swallowed involuntarily and averted his gaze from that of his teacher.

"So, Harry, Severus," Dumbledore began again after a few gulps of the hot drink, "how have your classes been going?"

Harry waited a moment for Snape to respond, but the silence that permeated the room seemed evidence enough that the man had no intention of saying anything at all. Harry had to fend for himself against the incessant small talk of the grandfatherly-no, Harry decided, great-grandfatherly, if that was a word-Hogwarts headmaster sitting before him.

"Erm, good. I guess. I dunno," Harry responded eloquently.

Snape snorted quite audibly in amusement. Dumbledore, however, was far more kind in his response and bestowed a benevolent smile upon the boy.

"That's lovely, Harry. And you, Severus? How are your classes?"

The man shot Dumbledore a look that Harry couldn't describe with a word better than "grumpy", and sighed as though the weight of the world had been plopped onto this bony shoulders the moment Dumbledore had asked the question.

"My classes are going as expected."

Snape sounded as though he were proclaiming that every student enrolled in his class deserved nothing more than to burn in the deepest depths of hell.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore chirped, and Harry entertained a notion that Dumbledore actually saw an alternate reality in which Harry Potter was capable of more than stunted, awkward responses and Severus Snape happily chatted his days away and did not give off the impression of wanting to maim anyone who spoke to him when not absolutely necessary. What a happy reality that must be, Harry mused. It would certainly explain a few things about Dumbledore himself.

"So," Dumbledore began yet again, "I understand that you, Harry, are taking Severus' class again. Is that right?"

Harry nodded and Snape rolled his eyes.

"Obviously. Merlin forbid he not grow up to be an Auror like his father."

Here, finally, Dumbledore's gaze sharpened.

"Severus," he warned in an icier tone than before. His eyes too contained a hint of a chill in their light blue depths.

Snape made a point of looking away.

Dumbledore sighed, and for a moment looked exactly his age, though Harry realized had no idea what that actually was.

"I suppose you both are eager to know why I have asked you to join me this evening," he said quietly.

Snape's gaze snapped back to Dumbledore and he nodded swiftly and decisively. Harry, for his part, felt terrified. His heart, though he had previously thought it to be dead, gave a huge and altogether unwelcome jolt in his stomach. This was it. Dumbledore would reveal that he knew what Harry had done. Harry would be expelled. The boy gnawed at his lip. He tentatively nodded.

"I was hoping," here the man steepled his fingers before himself, "that the two of you would not mind resuming a private class you abandoned not quite two years ago."

What?

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh, hell.

Snape looked murderous.

"What?" the man hissed out in disbelieving rage, "Do you honestly think that, after what he did, I would even consider attempting to teach him Occlumency again? It is out of the question, Headmaster. My answer is no." He crossed his arms in defiance, his relentless eyes a fiery shade of ebony.

For once, perhaps the only time until that very moment, Harry agreed with the hook-nosed man entirely. He worked up the nerve to look at Dumbledore, and added,

"I don't think that would be a good idea, sir. It wouldn't do much good anyway. I can't seem to learn it." His tone was much more sheepish in comparison to Snape's, but the message was clear.

Dumbledore's expression grew weary, but his eyes still held a hint of steel in their gaze.

"I am afraid that was not a question. I'm sorry to say that it was not even a request. While it saddens me that neither of you would like to participate in such lessons once again, regardless of your feelings on the matter, you must continue them."

There was a moment of tense silence. Snape visibly seethed. Harry felt utterly doomed. Dumbledore held perfectly still. Fawkes burst into flame and a tiny naked chick was left in his place.

Dumbledore smiled at the baby bird.

"Oh, my. What a time to do a thing like that, Fawkes."

The fragile thing lifted its heavy head and let out a soft, gargled chirp in response. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Ah, the beauty of the phoenix truly lies in its rebirth. This may be silly of me to hope," he took a moment to look each of them directly in the eyes, "but I would hope that you two would also let your relationship experience a kind of rebirth. This does not have to be the disaster it was before."

Harry had to wonder who the aged wizard believed he was talking to. Snape appeared equally skeptical.

"Headmaster, the boy clearly has no regard for privacy," the greasy git hissed through his teeth, "I refuse to give him half an opportunity to repeat the abominable incident that occurred previously."

A sudden, searing anger bubbled from within Harry. Snape spoke as though he had not deliberately searched for things equally traumatic to Harry in the process of the lessons. He had no right to act so self-righteous. He was just as bad, if not worse, than Harry.

"Like you're one to talk!" Harry yelled, "You dug through my mind looking for bad memories! I just looked into a pensieve that you had left out in the open for anybody to look through if they walked in. What if one of your Death Eater pals had decided to show up? He probably could have found something in there that showed that you aren't really loyal to Voldemort!" Harry stopped, panting hard, and wondered when he had stood up from his chair.

Snape looked shocked at the outburst, then his face morphed into a furious sneer.

"Potter," He spat as though Harry were the grime he had found on the bottom of his shoe, "I-"

"Enough!" Dumbledore cut off whatever doubtlessly horrid thing the potions master had been about to say, "This is exactly the type of behavior I demand you cease!"

His eyes sliced through Harry, and he at once felt like a child caught in some disgustingly foolish act.

"You two will cooperate. Severus, you will teach Harry Occlumency. Harry, you will learn it to the absolute best of your ability. And above all, the both of you will respect each other and each other's privacy! If I am to find that either of you do not comply, I will be forced to take drastic measures. Have I made myself clear?"

There was only shocked silence in the wake of the booming proclamation from the normally-calm man. After a moment, Harry worked up the nerve to speak.

"Yes, professor." Dumbledore gave Harry a small, weary smile.

"Thank you, Harry. And you, Severus?"

Snape nodded bitterly. Dumbledore's smile grew a smidge wider.

"Wonderful. I believe that this coming Friday would be a good time for the first lesson, if neither of you object." While the silence suggested that neither of them did, everyone in the room knew that nothing could be further from the truth.

"Perfect. Now, that was all I had to tell you. If you'd like to, I'd love to have you here for a little while longer," Dumbledore's knobby hands clapped together for emphasis, "but I would understand if you must go. It is getting rather late, after all."

Snape stood immediately, the legs of his chair scraping loudly against the floor in his haste to stand. He gave both other occupants of the room a short glance, then in one movement whirled to face the other way. He swooped from the room, cloak billowing after him, and slammed the wooden door behind him. Harry released a breath he hadn't even realized his aching lungs had been holding in.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah, Severus. I fear he is not very happy with me." He shared a twinkly conspiratorial glance with Harry. "Now, what about you, my boy? I have more tea," he offered imploringly. Harry shook his head.

"Er, no thanks, professor. I really ought to get to work on my assignments," he replied in a rather weak excuse. For some reason or another, he really didn't want to spend an extra minute with the kindly old man who was arguably the greatest wizard alive.

Dumbledore's face, wrinkled like a sheet that had never seen an iron, fixed itself into a slightly disappointed, but still understanding, smile.

"Perfectly understandable, my boy. Have a good night," He responded.

"You too, sir." Harry stood, pulled open the door on its rather creaky hinges, and walked down the chilly stone steps. He began in the direction of Gryffindor tower, mulling over what had just happened. Occlumency lessons. Huh. There was an unpleasant surprise.

Harry reached the tower, spoke the password to the rather plump woman in the door-sized portrait guarding it, and entered. He was immediately accosted by his two best friends.

"Harry!" Hermione greeted enthusiastically, "you're back! What did Professor Dumbledore want?" She brushed some of her tumbleweed-like hair back behind her ears.

"Yeah, mate, what did he say?" Ron chimed in as the trio sank into a particularly saggy red couch.

Harry glanced around to see if anybody else was listening. Nobody seemed to be, and the roaring fire was crackling loudly enough that most people would have trouble hearing him even if they were.

"Well, first he just talked about candy and stuff, but then, we got to his office and Snape was there."

"What? What was he doing there?" Hermione questioned, eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Have you been doing poorly in his class?"

Harry sighed in irritation.

"I was just getting to that, Hermione. And no, I haven't been-er, well, I haven't been doing any more poorly in his class than normal, anyway."

Hermione gave him a look that suggested that that was bad enough, and Ron grinned at Harry in amusement. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Er, anyway, Snape was there. Dumbledore chatted some more, and it was kinda weird. But then Dumbledore said that we had to restart," he scanned the common room again to be sure nobody was eavesdropping, and dropped his voice, " 'Remedial Potions' lessons."

Ron's eyebrow's jumped above the the fringe of his carrot-colored hair.

"You're joking!"

"Nope," Harry responded resignedly. "Anyways, Snape got mad and yelled some stuff, and then I got mad and yelled some stuff, and then Dumbledore got mad too and he yelled that we had to do it and get along or else. We said yes, but neither of us wanted to, and then we left."

Ron and Hermione gaped at him. It was Hermione that spoke first.

"You really shouldn't have let your anger get the better of you, Harry," she scolded.

"Oh, come off it 'Mione, anybody wants to start shouting when that greasy old bat is around," Ron defended Harry. "Anyway, Harry, what was Dumbledore threatening with the whole 'or else' bit? And why did he bring this whole thing up again now?"

"I dunno," replied Harry glumly, "but I'm fairly certain I don't want to find out."

The group of friends chatted about more regular things for a time after that, and they worked on some homework together. After a while, however, talk of Quidditch and Charms class grew boring to Harry, so he opted to head to bed slightly early. Once in his dormitory, he began stripping of his school robes only to feel something rectangular and thin in his pocket. He slid it out.

The envelope was enticing in its ivory innocuous ordinariness. Harry could hardly believe that he had forgotten it until that moment. He started to open it, but paused.

What if the letter was cursed? There was no reason it wouldn't be, really. It was, after all, rather suspicious. Its unmarked exterior only pointed to the fact that the sender may not have wanted anybody to know who he was. That could hardly mean anything good.

Harry pondered the letter in his hand. What it if was important, though? Wasn't it worth the risk? What if it gave him some clue as to what was going on in the war?

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Harry ripped open the envelope and unfolded the paper within.

Nothing happened.

Harry exhaled slowly and shakily.

He scanned the letter.

His eyes widened.

"That's...impossible."

**X~X~X~X~X~X**

**AN: Hello again! It's me, just like I promised. **

**I hope you liked the chapter. It's more a set up for what's to come, but I tried to make it good. It's also about twice as long as chapter one. No Voldy in this one, though, so sorry. :(**

**Anyways, perhaps the main thing I want to address is that my summary kinda sucks. I AM TAKING SUGGESTIONS FOR A BETTER SUMMARY. Please, please, please help me out here...**

**Anyway, please review! I really just can't say how much I adore them, and I respond to each one, assuming you aren't anonymous or have disabled your PMs. Even then, I still love getting the reviews. Feel free to ask any questions you may have, too. :)**

**By the way, I'm pretty sure that this chapter was clear, but I feel like summarizing it just in case. :)**

**First, harry wuz all lyke OMG wut if lyke peeple kno what happened last night! :O But then they didn't so he was all lyke "k kool :)' but in hiz hed. But then this owl wuz all lyke OMG HARRY OMG ATTAAAAACK!and it gave him a letter. then harry and ron were all lyke "wut is this?" but hermyoneee wuz all lyke "OMG TRANZFIGURASHUNS AAHHH!" then everything wuz boring. But then they 8 dinner and that one chick wuz all lyke D: to her ex and stuff. then dumbles wuz all lyke ":) oh hai harry i like candy come talk 2 me." but it wuz a trap cuz SNAPE WUZ THERE!1!one! and dumbles talked a bunch and snape wuz all :( and harry wuz all .; .; and dumbles wuz all "OCCLUMENCY iz kool again do it or else!" and snape was all :O and harry wuz all :O and then snape left and then harry left. then ron and that one chick whoz name starts with H were all lyke "WUT HAPPND HAIRY?" and harry told them. then he went to the doormitoree and pulled out the letter and opened it and waz all lyke O.O. the end.**

**Let me know if you liked the summary or found it helpful in any way. I'm thinking of doing one at the end of every chapter. :D**


	3. Coffee's for Closers

**AN:**

**Hello once again, lovely readers! Welcome to chapter three of Affection Deception. I'm sure you're all eager to find out what the letter says. :)**

**Anyways, I have a beta now! She's amazing, and her name is Tonks-is-cool. This ups the quality of the fic quite a bit, in my opinion. :)**

**Also, I'd like to remind you that, I've changed a few details from canon, and starting at the end of OOP, I changed the plot rather radically. **

**Well, I'll have a few words at the end, but for now, please read!**

**Disclaimer: If Harry Potter belonged to me, you would have been reading this fic as a hardcover published piece instead of the Deathly Hallows.**

**EDIT 9/23/11:**** I'm sorry, guys. I won't be able to upload chapter 4 this weekend. I will sometime within the next couple of weeks, but a lot of things have just come together in a terrible, terrible way this past couple weeks. Everything is going to be ok, but it's just been a very stressful time in my life. If you need more details, I suppose you can contact me, but just know that I'm sorry. I will, however, be publishing a short Snarry oneshot I wrote a few weeks ago, so maybe that'll tide you over until the next chapter.**

**X~X~X~X~X~X**

_I'm a mascot for what you've become_

_And oh, oh, I love the mayhem more than the love_

_And oh, baby, when they made me_

_They broke the mold – _**Fall Out Boy, Coffee's for Closers**

**X~X~X~X~X~X**

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_You are a thorn in my side. I suppose you must realize this by now. You have escaped me through dumb luck only, but I grow weary of your consistency in doing so. Know that your good fortune will not last you much longer._

_That said, how are you faring without your parents or godfather? It must be difficult, I'm sure. I do hope that you don't concern yourself too much about it. I will see that you are reunited with them rather soon._

_Are you doing well in your classes at Hogwarts? If so, I assure you your efforts are wasted. You will not live long enough to taste the fruit of your labour. In any case, I doubt you are doing very well at all._

_You may pen a response and Mars, the owl that delivered this letter to you, will retrieve it from you tomorrow._

_I won't sign this in case it is read by anybody other than the intended audience, but I should hope You Know Who I am._

Harry stared, astounded, at the delicate piece of parchment in his hand, not sure what to think, but fairly certain he was offended. He scanned it over one final time to try to make more sense of it, but with little success.

The letter would seem to have been written by none other than the latest Dark Lord himself. For all the subtlety it possessed, it might as well have been signed, "Lord Fucking Voldemort."

It was also very clearly attempting to infuriate him, and, Harry realized with chagrin, it wasn't doing a half-bad job. An intense, scorching anger had suddenly taken hold of him, and Harry became aware that his hands were shaking. The letter had begun to crinkle where he held it due to the force of his clenching grip. The thought of ripping it into minuscule shreds and casting an _Incendio_ upon the remains was suddenly violently appealing. Harry began to tear at the very edge of the ridiculous thing, but then stopped himself.

Why would Voldemort send him a letter? Moreover, what exactly did he expect back? Harry glanced back at the suddenly frightening sheet pinched between his adolescent fingers. Was it cursed after all in some subtle way? Should he tell Dumbledore about it?

Harry considered it a moment more, and then decided against it. If Voldemort could kill him with nothing more than a jinxed piece of hate mail, wouldn't he have done it before? This couldn't really be from Voldemort. The snake-like man would never waste the effort it took to write a taunting piece of correspondence such as this. This, Harry decided conclusively, was a prank, done by somebody else entirely. But then, who...?

It came to Harry in an instant. How could he not have seen it before? Harry released a short snort of slightly amused aggravation and unceremoniously stuffed the letter under his pillow. He made short work of his clothes, then, clad only in pants, slipped under the cozy blankets of the only bed he had ever slept in that truly felt like home. He left the realm of consciousness within the minute.

**X~X~X~X~X~X**

Voldemort had never been the sort of person to undertake an action without careful planning beforehand. It was a characteristic that he prided himself on and one that had served him well over the years. Every move he made was meticulously thought through and analyzed for loopholes, uncontrollable variables, and any other possible issue. Voldemort nearly always had a back-up plan, or a scapegoat at the very least. It was essential to ensure success.

All of that, however, got him absolutely nowhere when it came to the issue of one Harry Potter. The boy apparently could nullify even the most ingenious of plots using nothing more than an unflattering amount of luck and hard-headedness. The mere thought of the boy sometimes frustrated Voldemort to the point where the man could often not think straight.

It was, perhaps, no surprise then that Voldemort's written correspondence with the brat had been on an uncharacteristic whim. After all, what was the point of thinking it through when it would have no effect on the infuriating child? No other course of action would achieve any better of results, the man reflected with no small amount of exasperation at the notion. He drummed his spindly fingers, their nails hooked into yellowed claws, onto the desk of blackish wood before him. Voldemort would never admit it aloud, but he had no idea what tree the desk was made from. He merely enjoyed the colour. He noted absentmindedly with some irritation that his nails were sharp enough to leave tiny nicks in the spots they collided with the unfortunate piece of furniture. Perhaps he ought to rethink their grooming, he considered.

That was hardly the issue that dominated his mind the most at that moment, however. No, that spot firmly belonged to one Harry James (Was James his middle name? Voldemort realized that he wasn't entirely certain...) Potter. It had, in fact, belonged to him merely a few hours after the moment Voldemort had consumed the immune system-strengthening elixir a day and an evening prior. The Dark Lord had found that he was suddenly and quite unwelcome contemplating the boy rather often. This was no surprise at first, as he often spent bits of spare time plotting methods to possibly dispose of the adolescent, but he soon realized that even when he focused on other matters, the boy would suddenly spring to the forefront of his mind for seemingly no reason at all. It was quite inconvenient, and often the aspects of the boy that Voldemort found himself pondering were not even those that might be taken advantage of in battle. He might be listening to Yaxley or Malfoy report about some matter at the Ministry, or reading a book on the intricacies of some Dark Art he felt he ought to brush up on, when without warning, he would find himself contemplating the exact shade of green that the boy's eyes were, or the way his jet-black hair fell onto his forehead, or the way his voice resonated throughout a room when the boy willed it to...

Needless to say, these details entwined in the character of the Boy-Who-Lived were of little use to Voldemort, and he felt that thinking about them was no more than a waste of time on his part. Unfortunately, this did not change the fact that the Dark Lord was unable to _stop_ thinking about them. As the night went on, Voldemort had found himself growing more and more frustrated with this issue, until he had finally decided to write a letter to the boy in an attempt to rid himself of the fixation.

The letter itself was rather pointless, Voldemort admitted to himself. He had simply had no idea what to write, and so settled on what he knew to be somewhat immature taunts aimed at what he assumed must be sore spots for the brat. Despite the letter's tone, however, Voldemort could not find it in himself to resist asking for a reply. Why this was, he had no idea. He simply had the strong urge to attempt some sort of correspondence with the boy. For this reason, he had subtly asked a few questions about Harry's life (intermixed with insults, of course) and given him a way of response. He had also made sure that his identity would be rather obvious to the boy, as Voldemort frankly doubted his intelligence. This of course had the obvious downside of making it easy for potential interceptors to determine his identity themselves, but Voldemort was not terribly concerned about that. Mars was an extremely reliable owl, and sometimes the Dark Lord couldn't help but wonder just what the loyal bird had to do sometimes to get the job done. For absolute security, though, he had keyed the letter to Harry's magical signature. Any other person who so happened to glance at it would see nothing but a blank bit of parchment.

Mars himself was retrieving Harry's response, and that was what was setting Voldemort on edge the most. How would the boy respond? Would he even respond? Would he be angry? Well, he would almost certainly be angry. How angry, then? Would he attempt to insult Voldemort in retaliation? Would he tell Dumbledore? This last thought sent a wash of disappointment through the Dark Lord. He did not want his communications with the boy to be cut short so very soon, as would no doubt happen if the scheming old annoyance got wind of it...

Voldemort stood abruptly and started to pace the length of his darkened office. His nerves tingled through him, and he was overcome with restlessness. There was no determining what would happen until he got the boy's response. There was no reason to waste valuable time, thought, and energy on anxiousness over such a foolish matter. The boy was not worth any of it. But not one of these thoughts could calm the slightly elevated thud of Voldemort's heart against his ribs.

**X~X~X~X~X~X**

Harry arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast well rested and as ready to face a day of school as he had ever felt. Going to bed earlier than normal had done him a world of good, he decided. Today would be the best day he had had yet this school year, he thought with a smile.

Unfortunately, he was stripped of this misconception with little delay. He was happily chewing a mouthful of bacon when the morning owls began to soar in to deliver the mail. Harry wasn't expecting anything, so he paid the normally nocturnal birds little mind until one landed directly in front of his plate. He looked up. He stiffened.

The vicious owl from the day before was sitting there, cocking its head inquisitively. It was carrying nothing but the tawny feathers that coated its body, but it still held out its loosely closed foot at Harry. Harry stared at it for a moment before it dawned on him.

"Voldemort" expected a reply.

Harry had, in all honesty, completely forgotten about it. It was of little consequence, however. He had no plan of writing a response.

"I haven't got anything for you," he informed the bird flatly. "You might as well just go back to him now." The owl-Mars, was it?-fluffed itself up indignantly, and hooted at him.

"Hey, isn't that the owl from yesterday? The one that tried to kill you?" Ron observed, his voice curious.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione inquired, "That owl? What did it do? I've never seen it before."

"Oh, right, we forgot to tell you," Ron began. Hermione assumed an affronted expression, presumably at not having been told something. She parted her lips, probably about to berate the boys for forgetting, but Ron hurriedly cut her off before she could speak.

"Er, yeah, so this owl is totally bonkers. While you were in the loo it was tapping on the window, so Harry and me let it in. It pretty much tackled Harry a couple times, but then it gave him this letter it had, and flew off. Harry was about to open it, but then you came back. I guess I forgot about it." He turned back to Harry, and blinked a couple times, seemingly slightly sheepish about his forgetfulness. "Anyway, what'd it say, Harry?" Both the Weasley boy and Hermione were all ears, rapt with attention.

Harry took a short breath, intending to tell his friends all about the idiotic letter, but stopped. Their eyes were pryingly curious. The letter was little more than a distasteful prank. There was no reason why he shouldn't simply tell his friends about it and laugh it off with them. Yet, something in him didn't really want to tell them about this.

"Er, well, it didn't say much, really. I think it's just a joke or something," Harry explained cautiously.

"Are you sure of that, Harry? It doesn't seem right for an owl to deliver something at such an odd time. Let me see it," Hermione ordered, extending her finely built hand palm-up toward Harry, presumably intending to receive the letter itself.

"Oh, I don't have it with me. I threw it away when I was done with it." Harry felt a pang of guilt. He knew very well that the letter was perfectly unharmed. At least he had not been lying when he said he didn't have it with him.

"Oh." Hermione pulled her arm back to her side, looking a bit put out.

"Well, can you at least tell us the gist of it?" Ron asked for the both of them after taking a moment to swallow whatever food had been in his mouth. "Like, what did it say, I mean? And who sent it?" Ron's pale blue eyes constantly flicked between Harry and the owl, as if afraid the creature would lunge for Harry's throat any second. The bird in question seemed to still be fluffed up in annoyance, and was sending Harry a rather peeved look.

"Erm." What could he say? Harry had no idea. He didn't want to lie to them, after all, they were his best friends, but his gut instinct told him not to tell them the truth about the letter. Perhaps he could get away with skirting the middle ground.

"Well, it was pretty rude. It made fun of me cause my parents are dead, and it said I'm probably bad at school. It wasn't even signed." The last part was a stretch, but in the strictest sense it was true.

Both Hermione and Ron looked quite offended on his behalf.

"Harry, that's horrid! What kind of a person would send something like that? Well, one without the courage to even sign such a thing, I suppose," Hermione burst out, her hair growing frizzier as her virtuous fury rose. "You really ought to write that person back and tell them exactly what you think of them." She had leaned over the table as she spoke, but at this she sat upright again and nodded once, seconding her own verdict.

"Well, I say you ought to just send them a letter with a good hex on it and see if they want to write you after that," Ron added, pale hand gripping Harry's shoulder in support of his friend. Harry shook his head.

"No, I don't think I'll write back at all. I don't really want to have them write back..." Harry explained, casting a glance at the disgruntled owl he supposed would not be thrilled with his decision.

"That's probably a good idea, Harry. You're above all that," Hermione agreed, despite her previous opinion. "It would only make things worse," she added.

Mars seemed to be picking up on the gist of what Harry was saying, and was becoming restless, shifting from leg to twiggy leg. He hooted in frustration. Harry decided it was time to send him back wherever he had come from.

"Erm, Mars," the bird's head abruptly swiveled until he was looking Harry directly in the eyes, "I really haven't got anything for you. You should leave." He waved his hand to shoo the feathered creature away.

This was the last straw for Mars. The owl seemed to clearly understand what Harry was trying to communicate, but he was not happy with it in the slightest. With a painful screech, he half flew, half leaped toward Harry and landed on his chest, talons gripping the front of his robes and scraping the skin beneath in the process. Harry was propelled backward off of his seat, landing painfully on his back. Mars shrieked again in triumph, right in Harry's face, and flapped his wings. Harry desperately began to attempt to yank the bird off, but it was futile. The owl simply bit his hand so hard that a trickle of blood began to drip from the spot its beak had clenched.

The entire Great Hall was watching the exchange, Harry realized. Some, the Slytherins in particular, were roaring with laughter. Others were trying in vain to politely hide amused smirks behind their hands. A few looked vaguely concerned. The teachers looked as though they weren't sure whether or not to intervene. Some of the Gryffindors, Ron and Hermione included, had begun to stand, presumably to help. Harry flushed with embarrassment, and doubled his effort to remove the infuriating avian.

Mars continued his screaming, his beady dark eyes livid. Harry realized that the bird would not let go without a response. He reached into his robes and procured a scrap of parchment and a Muggle pen he sometimes carried for convenience. He quickly scrawled a few words on the dirty, crinkled thing and offered it to the bird as one might offer a virgin sacrifice to an angry god. Mars stilled. He cocked his head. Harry held his breath. Mars gingerly pinched the slip of parchment in his razor-sharp beak, gave Harry one final disapproving look, and with a great flap of his wings, launched himself into the air. Harry exhaled in relief.

"Merlin! Are you alright, Harry?" Ron asked in concern, offering a hand to help Harry stand. Harry grabbed it, and his gangly friend pulled him up until he was completely upright.

"Mostly..." Harry replied dazedly, "But I really am starting to hate that owl."

Ron chuckled in sympathy, and Hermione bustled over, having had to walk all the way around the table to get to them.

"Oh, Harry! Your hand!" she exclaimed, immediately taking hold of the bleeding body part and examining it. "You ought to go to the hospital wing," she decided for Harry, grabbing a clean napkin from the side of Neville's plate and using it to attempt to stem the flow of blood.

"No, it's not that bad, 'Mione, really," Harry protested half-heartedly. He surveyed the room once more. Many students still were watching him with amusement, the Slytherins especially. He glanced up at the staff table and realized that Dumbledore had begun to approach him, his timeworn features fixed into an expression of concern. Suddenly, the hospital wing didn't sound like a too bad of an idea.

"Er, actually, you know what? I think you're right, Hermione. Let's go." Hermione beamed at him and jubilantly nodded her approval. With that, the trio left the enormous Hall, heedless of the ancient wizard attempting to approach them yet again.

**X~X~X~X~X~X**

Voldemort's pacing had only grown more erratic as the hour had gone on. Mars was late. Mars was never late. Mars was the best owl he had- that was why he kept him secret from almost everybody he knew. There was no good reason that an owl of such high quality as Mars would be anything less than perfectly punctual.

Had something happened to the bird? Had something happened to Harry? The later wouldn't be unfortunate in the slightest, Voldemort firmly reminded himself, but the former prospect, at least, was slightly concerning. Good owls weren't easy to find, after all.

The Dark Lord had just reached the southernmost side of his study for the seventy-sixth time when he heard a light tap upon his windowpane. Hurriedly, he waved his hand at the source of the noise and the window swung open without hesitation.

The owl before him, though normally regal and proud, showed unmistakable signs of having had a rather disastrous morning. His feathers were ruffled, his stance was wary, and his eyes were tired. Held in his beak was a yellowed scrap of wrinkled parchment. Voldemort examined the bird a moment, then stretched out his arm, clothed in drooping black cloth, to Mars. The bird hopped onto the limb, extended his scrawny neck, and gently released the slip so that it drifted directly into his master's palm. That accomplished, the owl gave an almost apologetic-sounding hoot, flew over to his stand in the corner, and tucked his round face under his elegant wing to sleep.

The dark lord stared, perplexed, at the pathetic parchment in his hand. What could the boy have possibly replied that would be so short? Voldemort gingerly unfolded the delicate scrap, intending to figure out exactly that.

_Piss off, Malfoy_.

What?

Voldemort read it again, just to be sure. The message was the same. It was legible, too, though something of a messy scrawl, and none of the letters could be interpreted as anything different.

But then, why would Harry choose to say that, of all things?

Surely, Voldemort decided, he did not think he was addressing a Malfoy. After all, the letter had made his identity perfectly obvious. Was the boy truly that stupid, though? Voldemort could not be absolutely certain that he wasn't. If that were the case, though, why would Potter assume the letter was sent by a Malfoy? Which Malfoy, for that matter? Voldemort quickly cast a few enchantments, just to be sure that the letter was not concealing a magically-hidden message. It wasn't.

Was it a mere grammatical error, then? Did Potter not know that he shouldn't include the comma unless directly writing to a Malfoy? Was he, in fact, attempting to instruct Voldemort to annoy some Malfoy or another?

But, no. If anything, the boy struck Voldemort as the sort to forget a comma, not add an unnecessary one. But, then...

Realization hit Voldemort like an offended Hippogriff.

Potter thought the whole thing was some sort of immature schoolboy prank.

Did not Lucius brag constantly about how his bratty little heir had despised the boy-who-lived from the very beginning? Did not he claim that Draco was Harry's far-superior rival in everything the boy did? Voldemort knew as well as any wizard knew what that translated to. It translated to "they hex, prank, and insult each other in the halls and are far too passionate about Quidditch". Oh, yes, the pattern was a timeless one, and Voldemort had seen it himself when he walked the ancient halls of Hogwarts and still answered to the name Tom. He had never engaged in such a pointless endeavour, of course, as he had deemed himself above it from the beginning, but he had always been observant, and the relationship of petty rivalry was one that had emerged time and time again.

Tom Riddle never had rivals. Tom Riddle only had victims and those who would become them.

However, this was not the case with Harry. Clearly, the boy believed that Draco Malfoy had forged a letter from Voldemort himself as part of some kind of juvenile trickery. Voldemort had to admit to himself that, by most people's estimations, that would be a far more likely scenario than the truth. He toyed with the idea of letting Harry continue to believe it for a while. However, he decided against it. It would only lead to more trouble and confusion. Best not to challenge the boy's already-strained brain. No, he had to make his identity absolutely clear.

And so it was that Voldemort sat back at his darkly-stained desk, pulled out a flawless, ebony quill with matching ink, and began to write his second letter to Harry Potter.

**X~X~X~X~X~X**

The trip to the hospital wing had been short (Madam Pomfrey had merely cleaned the puncture and fixed it with a single "_Episkey_") but had been just long enough to take up the rest of breakfast time. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins, and so it was with dread-filled step after dread-filled step that they made their way to the appropriate classroom. Normally, Harry would have been eager to go to his favourite class, even when taking the presence of the rivaling house into consideration, but it had been very disappointing thus far. When the students had entered the classroom the first day of school, they had been quite astounded to find Dumbledore there waiting for them. Harry had hoped for a very happy moment that it meant that for some reason, Dumbledore himself would be teaching the class, but as soon as the class had arrived entirely, the headmaster assured them that no such thing was true. He had hired a teacher for the position, he promised, but the teacher was having difficulties arranging certain matters, and would instead begin lectures within the next few weeks. Until then, Dumbledore had cheerily informed them, they were to spend class reading their textbook and taking notes on what they read. They were seventh years, after all, and they could almost certainly be trusted to take care of themselves until their new professor arrived.

This was not the case.

As it turned out, leaving Slytherins and Gryffindors in a classroom unsupervised with practically nothing to do was a terrible, terrible idea. Their textbooks went completely ignored (except by Hermione, but even she gave up on that rather quickly) and each house would convene in a different corner of the classroom and socialize with those of their own kind. Then the fighting would begin. It was nothing serious at first- a few jeers here, a few jinxes there- simply normal behaviour for Slytherins and Gryffindors, really. While the Hogwarts staff almost certainly knew it was happening, they paid it little mind. One particular day, though, it became much more serious. Hexes and jinxes of all colours had soared across the room constantly, usually missing their intended targets, but hitting them often enough. At the end of the period, almost all occupants of the room had to visit the hospital wing to get their highly varied (and mostly comical) problems remedied.

That was how they had ended up being supervised by none other than Argus Filch every class. Under his reign, Defence Against the Dark Arts was equivalent to an unearned detention each day the seventh-years had it. Harry found himself despising his once-favorite class.

However, when the trio reluctantly entered the foreboding classroom that day, it was surprisingly devoid of the cruel caretaker. Bewildered, they found themselves seats near the middle of the classroom in a group of three. The other Gryffindors in the room seemed to be similarly disconcerted and kept glancing around, as if expecting to find Filch lurking unpleasantly in some corner, just waiting for a student to do something remotely against the rules. The Slytherins, however, seemed at ease. Harry barely had a moment to wonder why exactly that was before the door swung open.

Dumbledore's wrinkled visage seemed as joyful as ever for the most part, but Harry felt that something about the man seemed a bit more on-edge than usual. Harry found it quite worrying.

"Good morning, everyone!" Dumbledore greeted, sweeping the room with his gaze as if to try and greet each student individually through the action. "How are you doing on this lovely day?"

The Slytherins remained silent. Harry thought he heard a few Gryffindors mumble "good". Dumbledore beamed.

"Wonderful! Now, as some of you may already be aware," he looked specifically at the Slytherins, "and some of you may have deduced through the lamentable lack of our dear Mr. Filch,"

"If I ever lament a lack of Filch, just kill me," Ron muttered. Harry snorted under his breath. Hermione gave Ron a half-hearted scolding look.

"our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor has finally arrived," Dumbledore finished.

The rise in the level of interest of the students was almost tangible. Harry suddenly found himself rapt with attention. Who could the new professor be? Harry had been eager to learn the identity of his new teacher ever since school had started, if not before. Whoever it was, they couldn't be any worse than Umbridge, Harry reckoned.

"He will be joining you shortly, so I would recommend being on your best behaviour," Dumbledore continued, "but I'm afraid I must attend to other matters. Have a lovely first lesson." He smiled at them once again, waved his gnarled hand, and left.

The class burst into a cacophony of chatter the moment the door closed.

"Who do you think it is?" Hermione inquired of the two boys.

"Dunno," Ron responded, perplexed, "but I hope it's someone wicked." He grinned. Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry smiled fondly at the both of them before being struck by the sudden realization that he might not have actually taken his D.A.D.A. book with him that morning. He bent under his cramped desk where he had stashed his bag and began to rummage through it in search of the text.

He heard the door swing open.

The room was instantly silent.

"Bloody hell," Ron murmured.

Harry looked up.

He blinked.

Standing there in the doorway, looking as revoltingly regal as ever, was none other than Lucius Malfoy.

**X~X~X~X~X~X**

**AN:**

**Gotta love Lucius. 3 I'm almost tempted to scrap the plot and make this a four-person pairing including him. **

**Of course, I won't. Three people is more than enough, especially when they're Voldy, Snape, and Harry.**

**By the way, if you look up the song which I've included the lyrics for each chapter, you may find it rather fitting. I hope.**

**Well, a lot of you seemed to like the summary last time, so here's another!**

**So vodermort wuz all lyke "lulz hairy imma troll u lol cuz ur pairentz r ded :D" and harry wuz all :( but then he wuz all "lol thatz not the legit voldy so whatevs." But then the next morning harree's sidekikz were all "WTF is that letter harry?" and then Marz wuz all "OMFG HARRRY RESPONSE PLZ" and harreeee wuz all "no k thnx" and mars wuz all "NNOOOO! ATTAAACCKKK!""""" And harry wuz all "K FINE! gosh." and voldy wuz all "WUTTHEF is this, I iz not nawt a malfoy. SRSLY. look it up." And then harry and hermy and ronny were all "WUUUUT?LUCIOUS MALFOY?" the end.**

**Um, yeah, I don't think I'll include one of those in every chapter, lol. But I will have more in the future. :)**

**In any case, I adore you all. Please review, and I'll definitely respond. 3**

**Reviews keep me going when I'm out of caffeine.**


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